[Image source: The National Trust for Scotland, Robert Burns Birthplace Museum]
From oats and barley grew the Land o Cakes, a deceptively sweet and fluffy moniker for a place of rough terrain and lashing rain. A thrifty lot, the early Pictish settlers mastered the art of making hearty food from scant resources and turning water into heather ale to warm the throat. Although the days of huddling around fires and bashing grain to the tune of howling wolves are thankfully long gone, modern-day Scots hold on to their descendants’ belief that the key to surviving and thriving is stodge and a shuddering brew of something strong. One need look no further than the shot-putting Highlander who adorns each packet of Scott’s Porage Oats to see what a guid Scots diet can do for you.
Of course, any nation whose cultural identity is associated with a menu that a critic may favourably describe as ‘humble’ or ‘rustic’ opens itself to accusations of unsophisticated tastes. But we Scots have fire in the belly (most likely from the whisky) and such slander is met with short shrift, as revealed in one infamous riposte – often misquoted and misattributed to James Boswell – reported by Walter Scott in a letter to a friend in 1829: ‘Did you ever heard of Lord Elibank’s reply when Johnson’s famous definition of oats was pointed out first to him? “The food of men in Scotland and horses in England,” repeated Lord Elibank; “very true, and where will you find such men and such horses?” The retort, I think, was fair enough.’
Unfortunately, Lord Elibank’s defence of a Scotsman’s porridge-fuelled physical fettle failed to foresee the modern appetite for battering everything – including our livers – which has landed Scotland with the less-than-laudable label of The Sick Man of Europe. Even so, a healthy sense of pride in Caledonian cuisine remains a staple of the nation’s diet, fuelled by the national Bard. Auld Lang Syne and a right gude-willie waught for Hogmanay, The Selkirk Grace afore neeps and nips on 25 January, crying freedom and whisky gang thegither on St Andra’s Day: the Scottish calendar year is a Burnsian blow-out of food, drink and poetry. And at the top of the table sits the great chieftain of them all, the haggis. When Rabbie denounced fancy French fare in favour of a sack of sheep’s liver and lung, he taught his kinsfolk to elevate and celebrate the ordinary, guts and all. Thanks to Burns, culture and cuisine continue to complement each other across the country – on special occasions the Scots will be found among the poetry and pantry shelves, searching for the perfect full-bodied blend to fill both the belly and heart.
Naturally, the reduction of any culture to a few morsels must be taken with a pinch of salt. Key ingredients as whisky and haggis may be, they’re not the whole dish. And just as Scotland caters for a variety of tastes, so too does its literature. Work your way through the menu and the nation’s different flavours start to reveal themselves: the delicious and deplorable, our hungers and longings, what sates and sustains us.
In this new issue of The Bottle Imp, we invite readers to take their place around the table for an all-you-can-eat literary feast. For starters, Lindsay Middleton gives us a taste of Gender, Gastronomy and Intertextual Play in The Cook and Housewife’s Manual, followed by Roslyn Potter who serves a historical hors d’oeuvre in ‘Better byde the cuiks, nor the mediciners’: food and poetry in medieval and early modern Scotland (c. 1400–1650). Amanda Edmiston entices us into The Scots Kitchen to explore the legacy of Florence Marian McNeill’s classic cookbook in Dreaming Bread and Flourishing Folklore, while Amy Wilcockson offers a palate cleanser of Oysters and Aqua Vitae: Food and Drink in Robert Fergusson’s Poems, washed down with a Tavern Rat cocktail brewed especially for the 250th anniversary of Fergusson’s death. Prepping for those who hae meat but canna eat it, Gina Lyle ends the issue with a fruitful exploration of Vegetarianism in Contemporary Scottish Fiction. For some extra flavour and Upon Another Point, Graham Fulton relives his youth and takes us on the journey of The Itinerant Poets. And if all that isn’t enough to whet your appetite, we have a fresh batch of book reviews, too.
For God’s sake,
Fa’ tae
